


bilgewater

by WeeBeastie



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Canon Disabled Character, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prostate Milking, Rimming, sexual awakenings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-14 06:05:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11777025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeeBeastie/pseuds/WeeBeastie
Summary: when every day is like a war between the will to go onand a wish that the world would spiral into the sunturn your head toward the storm that's surely coming along[a 3x07-adjacent bit of filth]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Elle asks for canon porn, Elle gets canon porn! Much thanks to her for her cheerleading, her inspiration, and her advice. Thanks also to El, for all her encouragement. <3 Couldn't do this without you two!
> 
> Title and lyrics borrowed from "Bilgewater" by Brown Bird.
> 
> This is basically a PWP because...well, because why not, you know? There are brief references to what Silver did to Dufresne, so if that scene bothered you, maybe think twice before reading this.

Silver’s left leg - what remains of it - aches. His face is speckled in blood and viscera, and it's getting itchy. His heart's still pounding from the sheer terror of what he's done.

Still, he's never felt so alive.

He's retired to Flint’s cabin with him and their discussion is ongoing - Silver is of course horrified with himself for stomping Dufresne’s skull into a bloody pulp, but he wasn't lying to Flint about how it's made him feel. The darkness, as he embraces it, opens his arms to welcome it, feels _good_. He can feel it swirling and roiling inside him now, spreading up into his chest from his gut and warming him all over, making him feel like-- like this is what he's been missing.

He sits with Flint in his cabin late in the evening, both of them drinking from a bottle of black spiced rum they've been passing back and forth. Flint looks positively regal to Silver in the low light, and he can feel something heavy and unnamed in the air between them. It's not an unpleasant thing - far from it.

“How do you live with yourself after a thing like that?” Silver asks after a long, charged moment of silence between them. He takes another burning swig of the drink. “How do you...reconcile it?” he asks Flint, studying him. Flint is sitting behind his desk and Silver is in a low chair opposite him, his left leg stretched out to take the pressure off his stump. It's endured quite a thrashing recently, and he's aching from it.

“You live with yourself because you have no other option. You reconcile it as the thing you had to do in that place at that time, and you do your best not to judge yourself too harshly for what it is that you've done. That way lies madness. The darkness does feel good, even exquisite, sometimes...but you cannot let it consume you,” Flint says. He takes another swig himself, looking right at Silver, then rises from his chair and walks around to the other side of the desk to where Silver is. “You ought to take that off,” he says, gesturing to Silver’s false leg. “I'm sure it's hurting you.”

“No,” Silver says, shaking his head. “It's alright. I don't even really notice it anymore,” he says, and he can hear in his own voice that it's an unconvincing lie. Flint frowns, then fetches a basin of clean water from next to his bed, and a rag along with it.

“Take it off,” Flint says again, and it sounds almost like an order, so Silver can't help but comply. He takes off the false leg with a quiet groan of pain, setting it aside.

“Don't look at it, please. Give me that,” Silver says as Flint stands still in front of him, reaching for the rag so he can swab cool water over the stump himself. Maybe that will ease some of the deep, burning ache.

“Shh, stop. Let me,” Flint says, and then he's kneeling down, pressing the cool, soft rag into Silver’s aggravated skin. It makes him cringe, but it feels marvelous, too. He lets Flint tend to him for the briefest of moments, then gestures for him to get up. It makes him feel unsteady to see Flint on his knees before him.

“That is much better, thank you,” he says sincerely. It does feel better physically to be without the prosthetic, but it's not like he wears it because it feels nice, anyway. Flint gets to his feet with a grunt and settles in his chair on the other side of the desk again, while Silver loosely affixes the damp rag to his leg so he doesn't have to hold it in place. They stare at each other for a moment, and Silver runs his tongue over his lower lip. Flint looks away.

“If you are to be the king of all this,” Flint says with a gesture that's simultaneously grand and lazy, “you'll have to become accustomed to this feeling. Killing a man in battle or because he's trying to kill you is an entirely different beast, compared to the thing you did tonight. It's easier to make sense of murder when your own life is being threatened,” he says, taking a drink of rum and then passing Silver the bottle, which he readily accepts.

Silver doesn't reply to what Flint’s said, just takes the last swallow of dark rum that's left and then sets the empty bottle on the desk with a dull thud. He feels only mildly intoxicated, even though they've been drinking together for several hours. Mostly he just feels warm all over, and-- eager, somehow. Hot-blooded. Right on the tingling, hair-raising edge of arousal, which is a strange space to occupy with Dufresne’s ichor still tacky on his face.

Flint gets up from his chair, presumably to fetch another bottle of rum, and Silver acts before he can think too much about it. As Flint passes by his chair, he grabs Flint’s wrist and abruptly pulls him down toward himself.

“Silver?” Flint says questioningly, but he doesn't sound angry or even confused, like Silver might have expected. No, he sounds intrigued, almost as if he'd anticipated this and is now just waiting to see what Silver will do next. He's sitting in Silver’s lap, facing him, so close Silver can smell the rum on his breath.

“Captain,” Silver replies, and he can feel a wide, slow grin spreading across his face. He keeps one hand on Flint’s wrist, reaching out with the other to cup the side of Flint’s face as he leans in. When their lips meet, he feels it like a bolt of lightning through his body, and he goes almost instantly from being on the edge of aroused to achingly hard.

“Have you felt this way all night?” Flint asks when Silver pulls back, both of them panting.

“Longer,” Silver says. “But tonight has...brought it out in me,” he says, and leans in to kiss Flint again, chasing the taste of him. “Is that something you can help me reconcile, Captain?” he whispers when he pulls back, shifting his hips. He needs, he _needs_ in a way he never has before.

“I believe so,” Flint whispers back, then reaches down between them to slowly open Silver’s trousers and his breeches. He gets a hand inside and Silver moans, tipping his head back. Flint’s hand is warm and rough, and it feels staggeringly good. But he needs more.

“Can I fuck you?” Silver blurts out, then briefly thinks that maybe he shouldn't have phrased it quite so bluntly; it would serve him right if Flint said no. “Please,” he adds, like that might help.

“Yes,” Flint says simply, and Silver pushes up into Flint’s hand, ecstatic. Flint leans over to the desk for a small pot of oil and presses it into Silver’s hand. “Do you know what to do?” he whispers, and Silver can't think for a moment, with Flint’s hand on his cock and his mouth on his ear.

“No,” he admits, woozy with the heady pleasure of it all. He has a vague idea of how these things work, and it's not like he's never fucked anyone before, but he's never gone this far with a man. “Teach me how,” he says to Flint, grinning crookedly at the look he sees on his face.

“Take the oil and put some on your fingers. You're going to have to work me open so you can get this inside me,” Flint says, giving Silver's cock a squeeze that makes him moan. “Start with just one finger, and work up from there,” he rumbles. “I'll tell you if you hurt me.”

“I'll go slowly,” Silver assures him, feeling his heart pounding away in his chest. He shifts to help Flint get his trousers and breeches off, wishing fleetingly that he had the time and the patience to get Flint completely naked. This suits him, too, though - Flint in just his shirt with its billowing sleeves, open at the throat so Silver can admire how his freckled skin flushes pink with arousal. He spreads the viscous oil on his fingers and presses one against Flint’s hole, looking at him wide-eyed when his finger slips inside. “You’re so tight,” he breathes, and if he wasn't already achingly hard, he certainly would've become so then.

Flint laughs a little, pressing back against Silver’s finger. “Another,” he breathes impatiently, his eyes glittering. He looks like sin incarnate - if he is so, Silver will gladly go to hell.

“Does it feel good?” Silver asks, pressing another finger into Flint. He watches his face, curious, wanting to learn whatever Flint will teach him about pleasing a man. About pleasing him.

“Yes,” Flint hisses from between gritted teeth, his eyes falling shut for an instant and his body drawing tight. His back arches as Silver moves his fingers inside, and suddenly he cries out in pleasure and it's the most powerful, beautiful sound Silver’s ever heard.

“Oh my, Captain,” Silver purrs, and of course he does it again. Flint shouts, and Silver grins dazedly, feeling like a king, like a god, like he has surely been blessed to receive such a gift. He glances down between them and sees that Flint’s cock has started leaking, so he takes his free hand and swipes the pearly essence off Flint’s flushed skin. He brings his fingers up to his mouth and sucks, looking up into Flint’s eyes with his fingers in his mouth for a moment.

“Should’ve known,” Flint groans, his hips jerking as he moves with the gentle thrusting of Silver’s fingers inside him. “I should have known you'd be such a tease. Fucking _hell_ , just do it, get inside me. Put-- ahh, put more oil on yourself, and go slowly. It's been some time for me and you're...big,” he says in a rush, and Silver can feel himself trembling with anticipation.

Silver eases his fingers out of Flint and takes a brief moment to slick his cock with more oil. He steadies himself with one hand and together he and Flint join their bodies, Silver pressing up as Flint sinks down.

Being inside him is like nothing Silver has ever felt before. He throws his head back, teeth bared, eyes shut. Pleasure races up his spine and he braces his one foot against the floor, steadying himself, holding back from thrusting until he's sure Flint is ready. Dimly, he becomes aware that Flint is calling his name.

“Silver. Silver. _John_ ,” he rumbles, and that gets Silver’s attention; it's the first time he can recall Flint addressing him by his given (well, taken) name. He opens his eyes and looks at Flint, feeling himself shaking all over with the effort of holding back. He's being driven blissfully mad. “Go on,” Flint whispers with surprising tenderness, leaning in and pressing his forehead to Silver’s.

Silver shifts in the chair, pulling back from Flint and then pushing into him again, letting out a noise like a choked sob. He grabs Flint’s hips in both hands and presses up into him, helping him rise and fall in his lap, helping his captain ride him. He can't pull back very far but he doesn't need to; grinding into Flint deep and hard is everything. He digs his fingers into Flint’s hips and buries his face in his neck, sinking his teeth in and tasting the sweat on his skin, briny like the sea.

“John,” Flint groans, writhing in his lap, and the lust and potency Silver feels coursing through his veins is something he could very quickly become addicted to. Having a man so dangerous and so powerful in his lap, vulnerable and open to him, at his mercy - it feels _good_.

The chair creaks loudly beneath him, protesting their combined weight and the voracious way Silver is fucking up into Flint. He's getting close, now, hurtling toward a climax that he already knows is going to completely undo him. He pants open-mouthed against Flint’s neck, drooling on his skin and hearing himself making helpless whimpering noises in the back of his throat.

“That’s it, that's it,” Flint gasps, and then he clamps down tight around Silver and comes between them. Feeling Flint’s seed spill all over him is what does it for Silver; he's sent over the edge and his whimpering becomes a bellow of pleasure, reverberating through Flint’s cabin as Silver finishes inside him.

Silver slumps back in the overburdened chair, pulling away from Flint’s neck so he can catch his breath. He can see now that he's managed to smear dead man’s blood on Flint from pressing his face to his neck, but he can't find it in himself to be disgusted or even mildly disturbed. Flint looks so beautiful like that - flushed all over, sweating and breathing hard from exertion, Dufresne’s blood swathed on his skin courtesy of Silver’s ardent passions.

“For someone who's never fucked a man before, how did I do?” Silver asks hoarsely, running one hand almost obsessively up and down Flint’s thigh. Good god, those thighs ought to be illegal.

Flint just laughs breathlessly and rubs his sleeve against Silver’s temple, presumably wiping away the blood that's still there.

“That poorly, mm?” Silver jokes, and grins lazily at Flint. “You'll have to let me try another go at it, then. See if I can do better with more practice.” 

“You’re incorrigible, aren't you? I've never seen a man so smug,” Flint purrs, reaching under Silver’s shirt to pinch his nipple, making him squirm. He pulls back, seeming reluctant to do so, and gets shakily to his feet. He extends a hand to Silver to help him up. “You should sleep here tonight,” he says, and of course, that makes perfect sense. Even if it doesn't, Silver wants it, so he'll accept the invitation gladly.

Once they've haphazardly cleaned each other off and Flint has helped him to bed, Silver stretches his limbs and reaches out to brush his fingers over the delicate curve of Flint's ear.

“I may yet be drawn into the darkness,” he says, shifting closer to Flint in the bed, “but at least I know I'll have good company there.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote more filth woo!! This chapter also has some feels because feels-y porn is kinda my thing.

Silver wakes the next morning stark naked, his hair wild around his face and a puddle of drool on the pillow under his cheek. He feels well-rested and not hungover in the slightest, like he's gotten the best night’s sleep he's ever had.

He's also in his captain’s bed.

He rolls over onto his back and stretches, groaning quietly and wiggling his fingers. He looks curiously to his right and sees Flint there, asleep, still wearing just his shirt. He's still and quiet as he sleeps, not like Silver, who tends to snore and thrash, so he's been told.

Silver remembers the events of the night before and grins to himself, feeling downright exhilarated that things happened the way they did. His mind starts wandering as he watches Flint sleep, and he wonders if-- perhaps--

Flint’s eyes open.

“Good morning, Captain,” Silver says, folding his arms behind his head and eyeing Flint, smiling at him almost hopefully. He needs to get a read on Flint, suss out how he feels. Does he regret what they did, or did he enjoy it as much as Silver? Is he delighted or furious to wake up next to Silver? Is he, in fact, about to order Silver to leave his bed and his cabin?

Flint grins. Well, that's a promising start.

“Good morning, John,” he greets him softly, and hearing his first name in Flint's mouth like that makes a shiver go up Silver’s spine. “How do you feel?” he asks, shifting closer to him and reaching out to rub Silver’s chest and stomach, his warm, rough fingers trailing gently over Silver’s skin. So far, so good.

“Happy,” Silver sighs, arching up into Flint's touch. He hadn't realized how true it was until the word slipped out of his mouth, but it is the blessed, honest truth. The violence of the previous night was entirely eclipsed by the pleasure he found under Flint’s hand, and he feels almost like a new person, a man reborn. “Very much so, as it happens.”

“Excellent,” Flint rumbles, leaning in close to murmur in his ear. “Would you like to learn something new today?” he asks, and his tone is light and casual, as though he's offering Silver a cup of tea. But Silver knows what's really implied in the offering, and it makes him feel suddenly completely awake and alert.

“Yes,” he breathes, eyes wide, one hand coming to rest on the back of Flint’s neck. “What are you going to teach me?” he asks with a crooked smile, insatiably curious as always. 

“I think it's better if I don't spell out every detail to you ahead of time,” Flint says and sits back, then moves to pull the sheet off Silver and settle himself between his legs. “You can of course tell me to stop if I do anything that makes you uncomfortable. That, I should hope, goes without saying.” He looks keenly into Silver's eyes, and Silver feels the weight of his gaze. “I am not interested in doing anything with you without your express permission. Clear?”

“Clear,” Silver says, and he can feel that his body is already reacting to the idea of Flint teaching him something new. It isn't like he was a blushing virgin prior to the previous night’s events, but he's only gone so far with men before Flint - and no man has ever looked at him the way Flint is looking at him now. His other experiences with men were rushed, impersonal; just a hand or a mouth when he needed one. Flint is looking at him like he holds the secrets of all the world and the seven seas, and wants nothing more than to share them with Silver.

“Good,” Flint rumbles, then leans down and starts kissing along Silver’s neck to his chest, his shirt brushing Silver’s bare skin. He begins idly wondering what Flint is up to and then he feels teeth on his nipple and yelps, grabbing the back of Flint’s head in one hand so he can't pull away. He clutches at him as Flint’s tongue teases his nipple, cursing under his breath. After a moment he lets go and Flint pulls back, grinning down at Silver.

“More,” Silver snarls, demanding, then changes his tone and smiles beguilingly up at Flint. “Please,” he adds, reaching out to tug Flint’s shirt off over his head.

Flint laughs and throws his shirt aside, looking Silver up and down. “Sensitive, aren't we?” he asks, rubbing his inner thigh with one hand and making him squirm.

“Yes,” Silver says, panting, already feeling overwhelmed by lust. How is Flint doing this to him? The loss of control frightens him some, but mostly it excites him - the idea of giving himself over to Flint completely is an incredibly arousing one.

Flint bends over Silver and then he's teasing his other nipple, making him cry out softly in pleasure. He feels Flint’s hot, wet mouth descending from his chest to his tense stomach, then lower, avoiding his cock much to Silver’s aroused frustration. Instead he presses a gentle kiss to the inside of Silver’s left thigh, and Silver glances down at him questioningly, feeling his cock jump at the look in Flint’s hypnotizing green eyes.

“Remember, you can always tell me no if you don't like what I'm doing. But I think you'll like this,” Flint says, and he sounds...smug. Silver's in for it now, he's certain. Flint’s arms are sliding under Silver’s legs then, gently bending them back toward his body, holding him open, and then Flint bends down and--

Silver swears at the ceiling when he feels the first brush of Flint's tongue over that ever so personal part of his body. “ _Fuck_!”

He feels a puff of air against his skin that's probably Flint laughing at him, but he doesn't care, he just needs _more_. He's never felt anything like this before, and now he's frantic for it. He squirms and pushes his hips down, practically impaling himself on Flint's tongue. He didn't-- how did he not know this was an option? Why hasn't he ever had this done to him before? Even as these thoughts pass through his mind, he knows with absolute certainty that there's no one alive who could do this to him as skillfully as Flint is doing it.

“You've done it now,” he manages to say through gritted teeth, letting out a breathless, helpless moan as he feels Flint lapping obscenely at his hole. God, it's so filthy and wrong but so _good_.“This, this is-- please, Captain, Jesus!” He knows he sounds ridiculous, but he can't help himself - moreover, he just doesn't care. He's hard as a rock, his cock straining against his belly, and he wonders if anything will ever feel as incredible as this does. He's going to have a burning red rash on his inner thighs from where Flint’s beard is rubbing his sensitive skin, but that feels marvelous too, somehow.

Then Flint pulls away and lets his legs down, and Silver whines at the loss, reaching for him. He can't stop now, not when Silver was starting to feel like he could come just from the wickedly exquisite sensation of Flint's tongue inside him.

“You're alright,” Flint purrs soothingly, sitting up on his knees and looking down at Silver like he wants to eat him, which Silver is more than okay with. “Roll over for me, John, please.”

Silver complies immediately, scrambling to get on his belly. Flint reaches around him and slides a pillow under his hips, propping him up such that Silver feels deliciously exposed. He folds his arms and rests his head on them, trembling as he spreads his legs a bit further apart for his captain. He hears some rustling and carrying on behind him, and turns slightly to look over his shoulder at Flint.

He’s rewarded with one of the most glorious sights he's ever seen: Flint, naked and hard, kneeling with his thick thighs spread, pouring oil over his long, elegant fingers. Silver whimpers, and the noise gets Flint's attention. He looks up and their eyes meet, and Flint grins like the devil himself.

“Fuck,” Silver says eloquently, then turns around again and thrusts his hips back toward Flint, a clear invitation if ever he's given one. He feels Flint shifting closer to him, and then feels a questing finger circling his hole, gently massaging at first, not even trying to push in yet. Silver shifts his hips, impatient, wanting to know what it feels like to have Flint's finger in him. He already knows it must feel good, somehow - he remembers vividly how Flint reacted to having Silver’s fingers inside him the night before.

Finally, Flint's finger eases inside. It feels odd at first - it burns slightly, and makes Silver feel strangely full in a way he's not used to. But then Flint’s finger sinks a little further in him and brushes against something Silver had no idea was there, and it's like a bolt of lightning has struck him, making his cock leak enthusiastically on the pillow underneath him.

“The fuck is that?” Silver pants, shifting, trying to get Flint to touch him there again. “Do it again,” he demands, feeling his thighs shaking with pleasure.

Flint chuckles at him but complies, and Silver yells incoherently, pressing back against Flint's finger as ecstasy courses through him. He's going to need more of that-- whatever it is, _now_.

Flint seems to know what Silver needs without him saying so, because of course he does. Silver feels a second finger easing its way into him, and then both of them are rubbing over that ridiculous pleasure-spot inside him, and he thinks he might just die from it. Silver starts rolling his hips with the thrusting of Flint's fingers, finding an easy rhythm with him that makes his remaining toes curl and his black heart squeeze in his chest. If he does die from this, if this is the last earthly sensation he feels? He'll die a very happy man.

He feels it building within him slowly, a curiously pleasurable pressure that's akin to the feel of an oncoming orgasm but - even _more_ , somehow. He feels it creeping up his spine and washing over him in waves, and then suddenly he's coming without warning, making a strangled noise as he just-- keeps coming, endlessly, almost. Every time Flint's fingers nudge against that spot he feels another gush of seed leave his body, until he's utterly exhausted and completely spent.

Finally Flint's fingers leave him and he's being turned over onto his back, a damp rag tenderly wiping away the mess Silver has made of his stomach and thighs. The pillow that was under him is utterly ruined, he's sure. He opens his eyes, wondering when he closed them, and grins dazedly up at Flint while his captain smiles fondly down at him.

“No wonder you like that so much,” Silver jokes, trying to catch his breath. Flint hasn't finished yet, and Silver’s mouth waters at the sight of his cock, flushed red and straining. He reaches out almost without thinking, and only strokes Flint half a dozen times before he spends himself over Silver’s fist and forearm, groaning like it's an immense relief.

Silver's never been quite this vulnerable with someone before, he thinks as he cleans himself and Flint off with that same rag. He looks over at Flint as his captain settles in next to him, and for a moment he gets the distinct feeling that Flint is looking right into the depths of his soul. It's not unsettling like Silver might've expected - it's comforting, somehow. He feels seen. He feels _known_. 

“Captain,” he starts, struggling to get his silver tongue around the things he can feel shifting and taking shape inside him.

“James,” Flint corrects him quietly, and there it is: incontrovertible proof that he understands, even if Silver can't get the words out.

“James,” Silver agrees softly, and when Flint opens his arms to him, he moves into his embrace. He lets himself be held.


End file.
